


how to be something you miss

by akosmia



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst with a Happy Ending, Exes, F/M, Getting Back Together, Mutual Pining, Pining, they're dumb and they miss each other but they don't know how to say it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-29
Updated: 2020-04-29
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:20:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23912962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akosmia/pseuds/akosmia
Summary: "Can you help me get rid of it? The spider?" she hears herself ask, though she's not aware of the words coming out of her mouth. "Please, you know I'm terrified of spiders."(They both know it's not true. They both know she's never been afraid of anything for the whole duration of their relationship. Anything, except for losing him. Which she did anyway, so it doesn't really matter.)-- or: Rey calls Ben everytime she has to get rid of a spider, even if they both know she's not really scared of them. It's easier than telling him she misses him, though.
Relationships: Kylo Ren/Rey, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 103
Kudos: 519
Collections: Galactic Idiots Collection





	how to be something you miss

**Author's Note:**

> Listen, I don't know. I know this isn't my usual brand of fluff and I don't know how this happened, but the wonderful [galacticidiots](https://twitter.com/galacticidiots) left this prompt on twitter: " _Since it’s emo hours, post-breakup neighbours AU where Rey pretends like there are spiders Ben needs to come over to kill and Ben pretends like he doesn’t know Rey’s never been afraid of them because they miss each other too much. She calls. He goes. Sometimes he brings dinner._ "  
> And I just had to, you know? It called to me. I'm sorry, I promise!! Forgive me? ♥
> 
> Also, you can probably guess I blasted Last Kiss by Taylor Swift an obscene amount of times while writing this.

The first time she calls him, it's no more than a conditioned response. 

She remembers reading about it in her Intro to Psychology class – it's the simplest form of learning human beings are capable of, associating a previously neutral stimulus with a stimulus that normally produces a response after repeated simultaneous presentation. In this case, her neutral stimulus is the spider she sees roaming in her kitchen and her first thought is of Ben, because he always helped her get rid of spiders when they were together, and so she calls him.

Simple as that. 

(It's not because she misses him. It's not because she often thinks about the deep rumble of his laughter every time they leapt from one side of her apartment to the other trying to catch the occasional spider. It's not because she longs for the stupid, domestic intimacy of it all.

It's not because it's been three months and she's _tired_ and she wants to hear his voice, just this once, even if it will break her.)

It takes him an eternity to pick up. The phone rings once, then twice, then three times. For a terrible moment, she thinks he won't answer – and she doesn't know why the thought elicits such a surge of panic within her, because she's the one that left him before he could leave her, she's the one who slammed the door and cried the whole way home because for a second she'd thought Ben might run after her and he hadn't and she had sworn to herself she would not let him make her feel like this ever again–

Before the fourth ring, though, the call finally connects, and there's a brief, stunned silence on the other side of the phone. She knows he's there because she can hear him breathe.

It surprises her, how familiar this sound is. She'd never really realized how much attention she'd paid to it. 

She remembers a time in which his breath ghosted over the nape of her neck, when he curled his giant body around hers in the gentlest of ways as they slept in his bed, his arm wrapped around her middle, safe and warm. She remembers the way it tickled her skin when he laughed, softly, every time she hogged the blankets. She remembers the way he held it in anticipation when she pressed her lips to his neck, kissing a path down his throat. 

It amazes her, how intimately you can know someone and then never speak to them again. Except she's doing it now – speaking to him.

Well, _almost_ speaking to him. Still, it must count. 

"Rey?" he says, in the end. He sounds uncertain, as if her name were a foreign word he still had trouble uttering. 

His voice is even deeper than she remembers. For some reasons, it brings tears to her eyes. 

"Hey," she replies, casually, as if they did this everyday, when in reality she hasn't heard him in months and he hasn't even tried to call her after she left. She knows it all too well – she's spent hours staring at her phone screen, hoping to see his name light it up. "It's been... a while."

She hates how breathy her voice sounds, hates the fact that a sob is already trying its best to claw its way out of her throat, hates that he can rattle her by simply existing in the same space-time continuum as her. 

Hates that she doesn't hate it one bit. 

There's another intake of breath, then he exhales, loudly. It reminds her of all the fights they have been through, when he breathed in and out as if to brace himself for the pain that was surely coming. It tugs at her heart in a painful way that steals the air from her lungs. 

"What is it?" he asks her, then. He sounds so _weary_ – as he used to sound toward the end, when their fights lacked their usual bite and they were both just _tired_. 

"There's a spider in the kitchen," she tells him, biting down her bottom lip.

He stays in silence for a moment. 

"Uh–I mean–" He sounds so utterly confused that for a moment the last few months haven't happened and he's _her_ Ben, and he's looking at her with the wrinkle that appears between his eyebrows every time he's deeply puzzled by her. The wrinkle she used to kiss with a giggle. "Thanks for telling me?" 

She wants to laugh and cry at the same time because he's so – he's so _Ben_. The awkward, terribly endearing Ben she'd met back then, the one she fell in love with every time he smiled at her with that sheepish way about him, his eyes glittering with something that reminded her of _home_. 

"Can you help me get rid of it? The spider?" she hears herself ask, though she's not aware of the words coming out of her mouth. "Please, you know I'm terrified of spiders." 

(They both know it's not true. They both know she's never been afraid of anything for the whole duration of their relationship. Anything, except for losing him. Which she did anyway, so it doesn't really matter.) 

Something miraculous happens on the other side of the phone – he laughs. It's not bright and happy and carefree as it used to be. It's short-lived and almost sad, but it's a laugh and it's Ben's and she hadn't realized how much she'd missed it until now, until she hears it, until she's here and she's trembling and she's trying so hard not to _burst_ into tears and she feels his absence as a physical thing, a limb that's been cut off her and still pains her. 

"Alright," he says, then, softly. He sounds – he sounds just like Ben. _Her_ Ben. The one she thought she'd lost to Snoke. "I'll be over there in ten."

✨

He's here in five. 

She barely has the time to register it – she hangs up and stares down at her phone as if to make sense of what she's just done, as if her phone could give her the easy answer she's looking for. She still hasn't changed Ben's contact picture and now she's left staring at it – Ben, his hair half tossed up in a bun she'd teased him about for a whole week after, looking deeply focused at his stove as he cooked her breakfast. 

She feels a wave of longing so strong it makes everything else pale in comparison. It feels like this is the first real emotion in her world ever since she left Ben's apartment, as if her universe had turned into a barren black and white landscape, and the only hint of color was the deep blue of his absence. 

Maybe this isn't a wise choice – maybe she shouldn't have called him, maybe she shouldn't have missed him in the first place because nothing has changed and she's only giving him the opportunity to break her heart again. 

It's foolish, really. 

She looks down at her phone again and wonders if she should just call him and tell him not to come over, that she can deal with it on her own, that she doesn't need him. Before she can second-guess her own actions anymore, though, there's a knock on her door and Rey jolts, as if she'd been burned. 

Her heart is in her throat, beating so wildly it makes it impossible to breathe. Her hands tremble when she unlocks the door and it takes her more time she'd like to admit, but then–

Ben is here. 

He's standing on her doormat and he looks – he looks just like _Ben_ , just like last time she'd seen him two months ago, at a brunch with their friends she hadn't managed to talk her way out of. 

He's every bit as beautiful as she remembers, with his soft hair and warm eyes, as he fills her doorway with the broad shoulders she liked to rest her head onto when they watched a movie on his couch. He towers over her as he did when they were together and it comes as a surprise, the sudden realization of how much she liked that. How much she liked how _safe_ she felt in his arms, how easily he could lift her off the floor and carry her around as if she weighed nothing. How protected he made her feel. 

But there's something different in him, too – the angular lines of his face are sharper somehow, as if he'd lost a lot of weight really fast, and the dark circles under his eyes look almost like violent bruises against his pale complexion. She wonders if he's having trouble sleeping. She does. 

His eyes linger on her for a minute more, and for the first time in months she feels _alive_ , as if the grayscale world that was her life had suddenly burst into an explosion of red. 

"Hey," he says, awkwardly, sinking his hands in the pocket of his dark jeans. A faint blush comes to dust his cheeks, in such a familiar way she feels as if no time had passed at all. But it has, because he sighs and looks almost sheepish when he adds, "Can I come in?" 

He wouldn't have had to ask, just a few months ago.

She gulps, then moves away to let him in. He shoulders past her, taking great care into avoiding her, and Rey feels a too-familiar void in her chest, where her heart used to be. 

The door closes with a soft thud, and then there's just the two of them, and a silence that stretches for too uncomfortably long and that is so _uncharacteristic_ of them it breaks her heart. They used to talk _all the time_. She can't remember the moment they stopped. 

He fills her apartment just as he used to, as he stands there in her living room, making the small room feel crowded with his giant frame, and he looks so _devastatingly_ familiar in his dark jeans and t-shirt, his hair slightly ruffled by the wind and the times he has probably run his hands into it. It almost feels like he's come over to cook her dinner and then kiss every inch of her body like he used to, back when things still made sense. 

"So," he says, just as awkwardly as before. He nervously shift his weight from one foot to the other and tries his best to shrink into his shoulders. She knows him too painfully well and she can read the anxiety in his mannerism. "Where's the spider?" 

She blinks at him. It takes her a moment to remember why he's here and then the void in her chest gets bigger, an abyss she's been tiptoeing around ever since she walked out of his apartment. 

"Oh, right," she says, then clears her throat and averts her eyes. She wonders if he can tell she's about to cry – he probably can. He knows her better than anyone else in the world, after all. He doesn't say anything, though. "It's in the kitchen. Sorry I called you but I was terrified."

He doesn't call her out on her lie. He doesn't say anything about it, and Rey wonders if he's playing along out of pity. If he feels bad for her. If he thinks she's still so pathetically in love with him to come up with this elaborate scenario just for the chance to see him again.

(Or if he misses her just as bad as she misses him.) 

Taking care of the spider it's a quick, effortless thing. He kills it with surprising efficiency and gets rid of it and then there's no reason for him to linger in her apartment anymore and they both know it, because they stay in silence and do their best to avoid each other's gaze as they stand there in her kitchen.

She offers him a drink, but he shakes his head after a moment of hesitation and she's left wondering if he wants to stay here just as much as she wants him to, even if they both know nothing has changed. She thanks him and he shrugs, the usual dismissive thing that he did every time she tried to compliment him, as if he thought he didn't really deserve it. His eyes stay planted on his feet the whole time. 

It's only when she walks him to the door that he looks at her – _truly_ looks at her. It's an unsettling habit of his, staring at her as if he could see right through her. He probably can – she feels like an open book underneath his gaze, and he wonders what he's reading on her face. 

If her longing is so evident. If he can tell her hands burn from the need to reach out for him. 

"That's my sweater," he says, then, softly. There's such a tenderness in his words that she's taken aback, and it takes her a moment to understand him. 

She looks down at her body and – oh. He's right. She hadn't noticed she's wearing his black sweater, the one with a little hole on the right side she's tried her best to mend, failing spectacularly. He had left it here before everything fell apart and she's taken to wear it at home because it's soft and large and–

(It's not because it smells like him. It's not.)

"Oh," she says, stupidly. He looks at her like _that_ – like he's always looked at her, as if she were his whole universe, and she feels so dumbly angry at him she's almost tempted to strip right there in the middle of her living room with her apartment door wide open and toss the sweater right at his face. She breathes in, trying to calm herself down. "I can give it back, I'm sorry–" 

He shrugs again, as quietly as he's always done everything. As quietly as he's broken her heart.

"You can keep it," he breathes out, then. He's still so terribly _soft_ , and he has no right to be, he has no right to act like this, not after he's shattered her like this, not after he's made her feel _unloved_ and _alone_ and what was she thinking, inviting him over? God, she's so _stupid_. "It suits you. You've always looked lovely in it." 

Before she can say anything else, he leaves and she's left staring at the place where he's stood up until two minutes ago, and feeling so terribly lonely and sad all of the sudden, wishing he had stayed.

✨

The second time she calls him, he picks up after two rings. 

She tries not to search for a meaning in this. 

"Let me guess," he says, his voice so casual and light, as if they hadn't spent the last few months ignoring each other and forcing their friends to choose whose side to be on as if the two of them were two parents fighting for the custody of a child during a bad divorce. "Another spider?" 

She won't allow herself to miss it – the casual intimacy of it all, the light tilt to his voice betraying just the barest hint of humor, the way she just _knows_ his lips are now twitching in a small, devastating smile. She remembers the first time she saw him smile – how his lips had curved in such an entrancing way, how transfixed she'd been by his dimples. How quickly she'd fallen head-over-heels in love with the way his eyes shone when he smiled. 

"Yeah," she breathes out, her voice shaky and faint to her own ears. She clears her throat, stares down at her hand. She misses the feeling of Ben holding it, his palm dwarfing hers, his thumb stroking her knuckles. For such a large man, he had surprisingly gentle hands, touching her with the utmost care. "Can you come over? I don't know who else to call." 

It's stupid and pointless. If he were wise, he'd tell her no. 

There's a brief silence on the other side of the phone, then he sighs. 

"Of course," he says, ever as softly. "There's no problem, really." 

✨

It never gets easier, seeing him. 

He looks at _home_ in her apartment, which is exactly what makes it all so difficult. He looks wonderful and soft and domestic and like he _belongs_ , and the few minutes he spends here are the highlight of her weeks, as sad as it sounds. It reminds her of a time in which the sight of him in her tiny apartment was just as normal as breathing, a time in which he used to complain about the water pressure in her shower, a time in which she used to find him in her kitchen in the morning, making her the pancakes she loved so much just because he wanted to. 

He hasn't made her pancakes in what feels like a lifetime. Maybe it is – all of those memories seem to belong to a different version of herself, maybe to a Rey in a parallel universe where she gets to be loved for once. It's hard not to be jealous of that Rey.

She doesn't know why she keeps doing it. Calling him. Asking him to come over and lying about it. She knows it will only make it worse when she'll have to let him go again. 

And yet. She clings to the last bits of him, to this foolish thing they have, to this nonsense she keeps indulging in because–

– because she's spent her whole life running and leaving before she got left, and yet Ben is the only thing she can't quite bring herself to let go of. Even like this. Even if it's no more than a few minutes once in a while. Even if nothing has changed and Ben probably doesn't miss her at all. 

"I can't believe you still live in this shitbox," Ben muses, the third time he comes around. It's taking him a little bit longer to get rid of the spider, which has hid somewhere beneath her kitchen counter, _she swears she's seen it, it just went hiding._ She doesn't mind the fact that he gets to stay a little bit longer in her apartment, too.

She shrugs. He's sitting cross-legged on the floor while she's perched on the counter and even like this he takes up so much _space_ , in her apartment and in her heart alike. His head is at the perfect height for her to touch him. It would be so terribly easy to reach out and brush his hair away from his forehead and run her fingers through those strands she often thinks about. 

She doesn't. 

"It's not that bad," she replies. 

She doesn't tell him she can't believe it either, mostly because she used to think they'd be moving in _their_ apartment by now. _Home_. It's disorienting, because Ben's arms – currently crossed at his chest as if to protect himself – still feel like home, even if it's been a while ever since she last felt them around her. 

He raises his eyebrows, and the ghost of a playful smile hovers on his lips for a moment, beautiful and breathtaking and unexpected. 

"Yeah, sure," he says, the humor easy to hear in his voice. "I mean, who wouldn't want a colony of spiders as a roommate?" 

When she laughs – a quiet, silent thing, so different from the laughter that burst out of her when he was around and that he used to say _felt like sunshine_ – he looks up and looks at her like _that_. 

Like she's everything he's ever wanted. Except she obviously isn't. 

This time, he accepts the drink she offers him and he lingers a bit more, his eyes never leaving her face, as if to memorize it. 

It's hard to convince herself he doesn't miss her, when he looks at her like that. 

✨

The fifth time he comes around, it's clear that there is no spider. She doesn't even try to come up with a lie about that and he doesn't ask her to. 

Instead, he brings dinner. 

It's just pizza, she tells herself, and it doesn't have to mean anything, but he brought her dinner and–

He knows it, how much food means to her. He knows, because she's told him – they've spent an afternoon in his bed, the light of the sunset streaming through his windows and bathing his fair skin in a golden light as she told him all about her childhood, how scarce food was where she grew up, how her guardian used to starve her, how rarely she shares her food with anyone because she can't quite let go of the fear of being left without. He had held her right to his chest as he listened and had brushed the tears away from her face with his fingers, then peppered her face in kisses and promised to make her dinner every day for the rest of their lives. 

But that was before Snoke. Before he started to stay at the office well past dinner. Before it had become such a habit he didn't even need to text her anymore to tell her he'd be running late. Before he'd started to drift away from her, slipping through her fingers like sand. 

And now, after months and a heartbreak, he's here with pizza. 

"It's no big deal," he says, as he sets the pizza on her coffee table and throws a glance into her direction. His cheeks are red and his hair is slightly disheveled and he looks – so devastatingly soft, like the man she fell in love back before he let Snoke twist him into something different. "I just thought you'd like it."

It's pineapple pizza, her favorite. He's always hated it and teased her for her _lack of taste_ , as he used to say. She loves him so much she misses even his teasing. She'd welcome it gladly now. 

She falls back on her couch with a stunned look and he just keeps looking at her, the way he used to back when they were together and Rey–

God, she misses him so much. 

"Stay?" she asks him, tentatively.

She's wearing his sweater again and she shrinks into her shoulders, relishing in the way she feels safe and at home as the fabric wraps around her, moves with her as she shrugs, protects her as she offers him her heart, again. He's still looking at her, his eyes so warm she thinks she's going to burn. 

"For dinner, I mean? We can– we can share," she adds, pointing at the pizza currently resting on her coffee table, even if she knows he hates pineapple pizza with a burning passion. 

He works his jaw, the tension so ready to read on his face, in his spine. Her fingers itch to smooth the frown on his forehead. It's not a surprise, the realization that she knows him so _well_ , and yet, it takes her breath away all the same.

How can you know someone like the back of your hand and then let them go? It doesn't seem right. 

Then, he sighs. He does it a lot when she's around, lately. As if he were raising his hands in defeat after a battle within himself. She wonders if this means he misses her even a bit. 

"Alright," he murmurs, sitting on the couch next to her. He does his best to avoid bumping into her, but her couch is tiny and he's so broad – so big and safe and _Ben_ – and it's kind of unavoidable, the brush of his arm against hers. 

It makes her shiver. 

It's the first time he touches her in three months and he didn't even _want_ to. Somehow, it's enough to bring tears to her eyes, that she hides by pretending to be busy diving into her slice of pizza.

He lets out a disgruntled sigh, then bites down on the pizza he despises so much, scrunching up his nose at the taste. It makes her laugh and it turns her heart – the one she thought she had lost along with him – into a fluttering chaos. 

"I hate this," he says, then, after a few bites. "It's even worse than I remembered."

But there's a warmth in his eyes that looks like fondness and when he looks at her, he flashes her a tentative smile that brings a burst of brightness in her dull, grayscale world.

It feels like coming alive. 

✨

He starts to cook her dinner. 

She barely realizes it's happening – one week they're on her couch, eating Chinese take-out as they watch The Good Place's second season because she was going to watch it anyway and _didn't Ben want to watch it, too? Did he get around to watch it?_ and the next he's at her stove, working his magic, and she has no idea of how it's happened, but now her kitchen smells like every single thing she's ever loved and Rey–

It's almost too much, but she'll take it. She'll take anything at this point, like the pathetic mess she is.

It's only when she's halfway through his homemade lasagna that she notices Ben – sitting opposite her at her tiny kitchen table – staring at her. 

She licks her lips, unconsciously, but she doesn't miss the way his eyes drop for just a moment and God, she's so pathetic it makes her heart jolt, as if he had jump-started it with his gaze. 

She clears her throat. "What?" 

A soft chuckle escapes his lips and he shakes his head, gently. His hair falls slightly on his forehead and she wants to push it away so _badly_ she has to sink her short nails into her palms to prevent herself from doing something stupid. 

"Nothing," he says, his voice so warm and deep and familiar. _Home_ , she thinks absent-mindedly, _he sounds just like home_. "I just–" He takes a deep breath and shakes his head again, as if to get rid of a thought. 

Rey, being Rey and thus stubborn as hell, just looks at him and refuses to back down. "You just… what?" 

There's a faint blush on his cheeks when he replies and it reminds her of the night they met, how he kept blushing and yet never stopped looking at her, a duality that she'd been captivated by. They had spent the whole night talking, their cool drinks going warm in their hands. They'd even missed Rose blowing the candles of the awful disaster of a birthday cake Poe and Finn had tried to bake for her. It had been _magical_ , as if the universe had been created just for them to meet in a poorly lit garden, one summer night under the stars. 

"I just– I never thought I'd miss it. The way you eat," he explains, then, softly. His eyes trail down to the table, then he looks at her again and she's surely imagining it, the fondness in the back of his eyes, and yet she can't stop yearning for it, for just a scrap of that love she's always felt so hungry for, even if he clearly doesn't love her anymore. "You're always so messy. I used to just watch you, back when– It was cute, in a way. I– I miss it." 

Oh. 

She feels her longing for him as a physical thing, a force that squeezes her heart in a painful grip, that knocks the wind out of her, that lodges as a knife between her ribs. 

Her voice is so pathetically small, when she finally manages to speak.

"You… _miss_ me?" she asks him, as if she couldn't quite believe it. 

And she can't, she just _can't_ , because she's never been missed her whole life, because her parents never came back for her, because she's spent her existence missing someone who would never feel the same way, and the idea that Ben could miss her feels foreign and impossible. 

There's a moment in which he just _stares_ at her. As if there was nothing else on Earth he'd like to look at. As if she were the center of the whole universe, the focal point around which the galaxy rotates. As if he loved her. Rey can't take it – he's just _looking_ at her, with those warm eyes full of fondness, and she can't believe this lie again, not when it broke her the first time. 

He swallows, then takes a deep breath. His eyes flutter closed for a moment, as if it physically pained him to speak. And yet, he speaks all the same. 

"I miss you all the damn time, Rey," he whispers. It's the way he says it – his voice broken, raw and so terribly tired as if it cost him half of his soul. It undoes her, as if he had tugged at her very being. "Why do you think I keep doing this? Rushing here as soon as you call?" 

She bites down her bottom lip, because she doesn't have an answer and the things he's saying are impossible to believe and yet she dies to believe him so _desperately_. "I just thought you felt bad for– you know. How things ended." 

He looks at her again, and this time, she's not imagining the tears in the back of his eyes. He inhales, sharply, as if she had just stabbed him. 

"Felt bad? Rey, I–" His eyes look like flames on his pale face and she feels herself burn under the intensity of his gaze. The same intensity she'd fallen in love with, back then. "I miss you so fucking much it hurts to _breathe_. I'm not doing this because I feel _bad_ , I'm doing this because I love you." 

His words hang in the air for a moment before she grasps them because – because it feels _impossible_ , because she's spent the last few months thinking he'd stopped loving her a long time ago and now he's here, in her kitchen, telling her he loves her, present tense, and she can't make sense of it. 

Ben loves her. Her love-starved heart – the one that aches and yearns and longs for him – can't believe it. 

"I thought–" She clears her throat, eyes full of tears she doesn't want to shed. "I thought you were done with me. You were never around and you were working all the time and when we were together you were so distant and we fought all the times and– I thought you were going to _leave_ me."

"You left first," he says, softly, not a trace of accusation in his voice. "And I don't blame you, you were right. I was a mess and I had let Snoke poison our relationship and twist it but– God, I was so _stupid_. He always told me that you were going to discard me just like everyone else in my family did and I tried so hard not to fall for it– but then you _left_." 

She flinches, because she doesn't need the reminder. Because she still remembers the day she left his apartment telling him she was done, that she wouldn't force him to choose between her and his work, that she was _tired_ of asking to be loved. It had seemed the only possible option at the time. 

But now Ben tells her he _loves_ her. 

"Because I couldn't sit around and wait for you to leave me," she whispers, and she hates it. She hates the way her voice trembles, she hates the person she's become. This whimpering mess that's begging to be _loved_. She doesn't even know how to explain it to him – how she'd felt like it was a choice between either leaving or being left and it wasn't much of a choice at all, in the end. "I couldn't go through that again, Ben, not with you, not when I loved you so much and I thought you were going to leave me and I couldn't stand it, I couldn't lose you like that, if I had to lose you I had to do it on my own terms but it hurt all the same–" 

She doesn't realize she's crying until the tears come streaming down her face and there's something heaving on her chest and then–

Ben moves so quickly she barely has the time to register it and then he's kneeling on the floor and his arms are around her before she can say anything else and she all but _falls_ into his embrace as if desperate to feel him and _oh_. 

It feels so _nice_ , being held by him. 

It feels like _home_. 

" _Rey_ ," he whispers into her hair, sounding awed and pained at the same time. 

She barely notices he's pulled her down from her chair and she's sitting into his lap as they both kneel on the floor – she just feels his arms around her and his breath ghosting against her skin, his heartbeat jumping against her hands when she places them on his chest as if to assure herself he's solid and real underneath her palms. His lips plant a kiss to the crown of her head and his hands rest at the small of her back and she feels so _safe_ , as she hasn't felt in months, and she wants to lose herself in this, in him. 

He smells exactly like she remembers – he smells like _home_. 

"Rey, sweetheart," he murmurs, so softly, tenderness dripping from his lips as he peppers her forehead with little kisses. "I'm here, it's alright, I'd never leave you, I love you, I love you so much, I'm never letting you go, I promise–" 

She buries her head in the crook of his neck and cries, letting all the tears she has repressed in these months flow freely for the first time, and he holds her through it, murmuring sweet nonsense to soothe her, his fingers running up and down her back, his lips planting soft kisses to her hairline, her forehead, her temple. 

It feels like an eternity passes like this, as she shakes and trembles and sobs into his arms and she feels him tremble too, his shoulders quivering, his voice broken and uneven when he keeps talking and she knows he's crying too. Somehow, it makes her feel less alone for the first time in months.

Her hands claw at the sweater he's wearing, as if she were terrified of letting him go. As if he could disappear as soon as she loosens her grip on him. But he doesn't disappear – not when she sniffles, letting out a last, pitiful sob, and pulls away from him to look into his eyes and not even when she lets go of his sweater to bring a hand to his face. 

She traces his familiar features with her fingertips, as if to study him, and he lets her do it, his eyes never leaving hers, so full of love it's almost painful. Then, she cups his cheek, wet with tears, her thumb smoothing the skin of his cheekbone, and he nuzzles into her palm, pressing a kiss to her skin. A few tears run down her cheeks, still. 

"I'm sorry," she says, in the end, when she manages to speak despite the lump in her throat. "I'm sorry for leaving."

He kisses her palm again, and she can feel his little, self-deprecating smile against her skin when he does. He shakes his head, gently. 

"I'm sorry for making you feel like you had to leave," he replies, softly. His eyes are so warm and full of love and Rey never thought she could get this again, this fluttering feeling in her chest, this warmth spreading in her bones. This sense of belonging deep within her soul. "Rey, I love you. You're the best thing that's ever happened to me and I– I was so fucking stupid, believing what Snoke used to say. I should have known better but he– He knew my weakness. He knew I was terrified of you turning on me and abandoning me and he used it against me and when you _left_ –" 

"Shh, it's alright," she murmurs, cradling his face into her hands. It's not quite alright – they've both been so _foolish_ , giving in to their worst fears, and it will take time for both of them to heal, but this is a gift, this is the universe giving her back what she lost and she's not going to let go this time. "We were both stupid. I shouldn't have let my fears rule me, I should have known better too. I shouldn't have assumed you were going to leave me just because it's all I've ever known."

His hands tighten their grip on her hips and he rests his forehead against hers, his eyes so warm she feels her heart _burn_ into her chest. A pleasant burn, like the crackle of a fireplace. "I'll never leave you, Rey. Never." 

This time, she believes him. 

The moment he kisses her, it feels like being put together again, and Rey hadn't even realized how broken she'd been until now, as Ben holds her to his chest as if he were holding something precious. The black and white scene of her life erupts in a surge of gold as she kisses him back, and her heart flutters in her chest like a frightened creature that longs for Ben, for his touch, for his presence. The feelings she hadn't allowed herself to feel in these months come back now and it's heady, this rush of love and relief and warmth she feels pool deep in her chest. She knows she's crying into the kiss, but it doesn't matter. He's crying too. 

One of his hands comes to cradle her face, his fingers winding in her hair, and he kisses her deeply and slowly, as if to savor this, as if to take his time to learn her again. It's always nice, the way he kisses her – as if he wanted to get lost on her mouth, in her kiss. It's sweet and languid and magnificent and she feels her toes curl and her heart skip a few beats.

She never wants to go without his kisses ever again.

Luckily, she doesn't have to. 

"I left the First Order," Ben murmurs on her lips, then his mouth wanders down, leaving a trail of worshipful kisses down her neck. 

It takes her a moment to understand him, drunk on his presence and his mouth. " _What_?" she asks, then, tugging at his hair to pull him up and study his beautiful, familiar face. Her hands slide down and she comes to stroke his cheeks again and he–

He just _looks_ at her, a tentative, vulnerable smile on his lips. There's so much tenderness in his gaze it feels like he's pressing down on her chest, preventing her from breathing. And yet, it's the most beautiful feeling of them all. 

"Yeah," he says, sheepishly, a faint blush spreading on his face, heightening the moles she has spent countless lazy mornings tracing as they lay in their bed. "A few weeks after you left, Snoke came to talk to me and he– He said he was proud of me for focusing on my work and not letting you distract me, that I was finally becoming the person he'd seen in me all along and I just– I realized I didn't want to be that person. I just wanted to be the person who loved you."

She feels the tears well in her eyes again, but this time she welcomes them. The way he looks at her makes her heart ache in her chest from the amount of love she feels – it threatens to spill out of her, as if her body were too small to contain it.

She's still cradling his face into her hands when she replies. "Why didn't you tell me?" 

He lets out a soft, self-deprecating chuckle that tugs at her heartstrings. "I didn't think it mattered. But I was alright with it. Loving you even if you were gone. It was more than I deserved anyway." 

_Oh_. 

"Oh, Ben," she whispers. She pulls him down to rest his forehead against his and just _looks_ at him – his deep, warm eyes that always seem to see right through her, the angular lines of his face that she's spent hours studying, the curve of his full lips that gives way to another tentative smile that makes her insides do funny things – and she finally, finally feels at _home_. "I love you. I've never stopped loving you." 

This time, she surges forward to kiss him, and when his arms wrap around her frame, the black and white barren landscape of her life erupts into a flare of brightness, an explosion of colors that bring tears to her eyes. Her heart beats frantically in her chest and when Ben rests his palm against it, just as she'd done a few minutes ago, she feels like he's putting it back together again. 

He starts to trail kisses down her throat, tipping her head back to reach more of her skin. It elicits a pleasant spark of warmth within her, and something pools in her belly when he gently nibbles at the underside of her jaw. 

Still, she thinks she ought to protest a little bit. "The lasagna will get cold–" 

"Leave it," he groans as he press another kiss to her lips, biting down on her bottom lip the way he knows will drive her mad in the most delicious way. She lets out a soft whimper, her hands sinking into his hair. "I'll make you all the lasagna you want for the rest of your life." 

She thinks she can definitely settle for this. 

✨

Later, when they're lying in her bed – Rey splayed on top of him because her mattress is way too tiny to fit them both, especially when one of them is as tall and broad as Ben, but she's not complaining at all – and they're just basking in each other's presence, his hand running up and down her spine in a languid caress that turns her boneless, her own fingers resting on his naked chest as if to feel his heartbeat underneath her palms, Ben speaks again. 

"I was thinking–" he starts. His voice is still somewhat uneven, as if he hadn't quite recovered from their lovemaking, and Rey _adores_ the vulnerability it brings, the way he sounds so genuine and earnest and awestruck at the same time, as dazed as she feels. 

She nuzzles against his chest, pressing a kiss right to the place where his heart is thundering against his ribcage. "Mh?" 

He tenses a little bit, but in a good way, because she feels his hesitant smile against her forehead when he bends down to press a kiss there. "You seem to have quite the spider problem." 

A heartfelt chuckle slips past her lips and it's probably the first time she laughs like this in months. It's the first time she laughs like _herself_ again and Ben must notice too, because his heartbeat picks up underneath her fingers. It's such a beautiful sound – she can't believe she went months without hearing it. 

"Yeah," she convenes, playing along with him. "It seems like it." 

There's a moment of silence before he speaks again, but it feels oddly _meaningful_ , as he runs his fingers up and down her back, their legs a tangle of limbs underneath her sheets, their bodies pressed so close together she doesn't know where he ends and where she begins. The moonlight streams through her window, bathing them in a silvery light. It feels almost like a dream, but she knows it's real because her dreams are not quite as accurate – she never gets the feeling of his body against hers right, as if it were something too elusive an precious for her mind to grasp. 

"Well, my apartment is relatively spider-free," he says, after a minute's hesitation. 

She frowns in confusion as she tries to make sense of his words and she blames his intoxicating presence for the fact that it takes her so long to understand him. Then, it _hits_ her. 

Her head shoots up immediately and she _looks_ at him – splayed underneath her as he is, tentative and frightened and hopeful at the same time, the blush she loves so much spreading from his face to the edge of his collarbones, his lips parted as he holds his breath in anticipation and stares at her with the warmth she fell in love with so long ago in his eyes. 

"Ben," she says, his name a sacred thing on her lips. "Ben, are you asking me to move in with you?" 

He nods, as quietly as he does everything else. As quietly as he's put her heart back together. His hand stops tracing patterns against her spine and rests, gently, at the curve of her hips, his thumb drawing small circles on her hipbone.

"Yeah," he says, then, gulping. "Yeah, I am." 

Words have never been his strongest suit and she knows it, so she can read what he means in the way he looks at her – she can read his eagerness and his fears and even the love that pours from his eyes, enveloping her. Home, she thinks, he's offering her a _home_. 

She gulps, too. There's a lump in her throat that makes it hard to speak, but she tries anyway. "Alright," she says, then, softly. "I'll move in with you." 

The smile that comes on his lips is bright and dimpled and every bit as beautiful as the smile she fell in love with years ago. 

He surges forward at the same time she bends down and she bumps her forehead into his, eliciting a groan and a small huff of laughter, but then he's kissing her and she's kissing him and it doesn't matter anymore. 

She's _home_. 

"I'm never letting you go again," he murmurs against her lips, his eyes half-lidded, a giddy happiness about him, on the lines of his face. "I promise." 

He keeps the promise for the rest of their lives. 

**Author's Note:**

> as usual, i'm also on [twitter](https://twitter.com/akosmia) and [tumblr](http://kylorensx.tumblr.com) if you want to say hi ♥ i'm trying to take a little break from writing before i give myself a burnout so i won't post here as often as i have during this lockdown (which still hasn't ended in my country. i love being trapped in my own home for more than two months *fingerguns*) but lbr i'll probably be back here soon, this time with something fluffier i hope!


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